


Preparation

by TruebornAlpha



Series: Homeward Bound [Part 2] [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Detective Stiles, Feral Scott, Fights, M/M, Past Abuse, Sciles, Violence, undercover fighting rings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-13 04:04:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3367106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TruebornAlpha/pseuds/TruebornAlpha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Werewolves were rare, mysterious mutants of nature and Lycanthropy showed its symptoms in adolescence. They cropped up every now and then, and turned communities on their heads as the government struggled to find ways to manage them - and to protect them from people hell bent on destroying them. Worse still were the people who thought that werewolves served a more suitable role as pets.</p><p>In order to stop the illegal trade in werewolves, Detective Stilinski has gone undercover in the werewolf fighting rings with his best friend at his side...if they can survive long enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Preparation

**Author's Note:**

> Part two of [Homeward Bound](http://archiveofourown.org/series/94784)

”I am not starving you.”

They’d been training for weeks, trying to make sure Scott was in the best possible shape to survive the ring, trying to make sure that Stiles wasn’t going to choke on his cover story and that he could carry a piece with any sort of confidence. The Feds spent so much time constructing a double-life for them both. They had a new house now, far from Beacon Hills - a swanky place with a fast car and housekeeping services. It had a room where the concrete hadn’t been covered in tiles, filled with machines that wouldn’t look out of place in a museum for medieval torture devices. It also had a cage. Stiles hated that room. He hated a lot of things.

Stiles paced, hands moving too fast, mouth turned down in an unhappy frown. The house really was lovely. Stiles wouldn’t be able to afford it unless he won the lottery, and then he wouldn’t be able to maintain it. They had to convince the maid service that it was being fully used. Making the occasional mess had never been an issue, but there were only two or three rooms the human ever really visited. 

"I don’t care if it - makes you fight better or whatever, I’m not. And you’re not doing it yourself either."

He’d shaved his head again. It made him look older, made the scars on his face stand out. Being decked in bespoke suits didn’t hurt. They’d come so far from who they were - are? Yet weeks of prep work could go up in smoke, because every time the detective discovered something new about their assignment, he felt ill. Their first official meeting just around the corner, Stiles wasn’t sure any of this was enough.

It was supposed to be a simple event, a fight ring representative wanted to make sure Stiles could handle their games. Stiles was still trying to convince himself that he wouldn’t put a bullet through their eyes the moment they touched Scott.

___

Scott had still kept himself slim, wolf metabolism burning off whatever greasy, salty meals he shared with Stiles when they were both too lazy to cook, but it was still nowhere near where he needed to be for the ring. He’d gotten soft in his year of humanity, edges rounded and claws dulled to be used more in the bedroom than in fights for his life. He’d taken the weeks in this strange, uncomfortable house to train, battering himself until his knuckles bled and his body ached to keep himself from thinking about what came next, or the intrusive scents of  _others_  in their ‘home.’ He was supposed to be a feral pet, no one said anything as he trained himself into a frenzy until every inch of him was hard and sharp like a weapon and he stalked the too-big house with restless aggression.

He missed the familiar press of rowan wood that helped keep his instincts restrained and the small home where everything felt safe and closed in. This place was too big, so he kept himself to only a few rooms and spent too much time here, relearning how to be a killer without the comfort of soft sheets and warm arms.

“I don’t think you have a choice.” The wolf said with a sigh, slumping against a bare bench and wiping sweat from his forehead. His dark skin gleamed, the wolf dressed in just a pair of too long shorts and a grimy used-to-be-white tank top that clung to his body. “When we head to the fight, they’re going to keep me in the kennels before the match while you do whatever it is the owners due to brag about things. You’ve got to be just as cruel as they are, Stiles. They’ll look for any weakness and try to tear you down, it’s just as brutal up there as it is in the ring and a whole lot less honest. Promise me that you won’t come see me before the fight, you don’t need to see me like that.”

___

Stiles’s expression darkened, but he pressed forward, boxing his mate in. He leaned in close, resting their foreheads together, and it should have been so easy to reach out and kiss Scott. This was supposed to be the easy part. They were still following government scripts. They were still safe, still building the background of Private First Class Anderson, a distant relative of the banking tycoon Samantha Anderson in Colorado. His background of violence was classified, but Stiles had enough stories to make it believable.

Everything should have been fine. Except it had been so long since he’d been able to hold Scott. The werewolf tore himself down trying to build a weapon, and Stiles lost himself in trying to learn another life. By the end of the day, they had barely enough strength to drag each other to bed, and sometimes Stiles just turned around and wondered if he’d be able to recognize the person he’d grown to love, the person he’d shared his life with once it was all over.

The first time he found Scott, it was a struggle to find anything familiar. Now, Stiles watched as the love of his life was systematically buried. The armor that was supposed to keep his friend alive was the same thing that kept him from coming home for so long.

The detective had no idea what would happen next, but he kissed Scott anyway. Hard and bruising and desperate, he could still drag the sweetest sounds out of his wolf, still make him shiver and moan. He made no promises.

"Do you have more to do tonight?"

___

The wolf’s entire body tensed, aggression flashing through his nerves before he relaxed under the kiss. Stiles wouldn’t have accepted anything less. “There’s always more to do.” He said with a sigh. “But I can take a break.” Scott was finding it harder than he thought stripping himself of his human vulnerabilities.

He’d been a caged animal for seven years and spent only one trying to repair the damage. Relearning humanity was difficult and slow, but the lessons seemed to have taken root deeper than he anticipated. He couldn’t let that distract him, weakness was going to get him killed and ruin the operation for them both. If they were going to keep each other safe and rescue the other wolves, he needed to force himself back into that cage. The trick was not pushing too hard to widen the cracks in his sanity that he’d spent the last year healing. He could feel them like sore bruises, ready to open wide and swallow him back down.

“You can’t treat me like a human. I’m _not_  one, even if we pretend.” Scott didn’t pull away, cupping Stiles’s face and sliding his fingers up into the buzzed hair. He liked the way it felt against his skin, it was almost like when they were kids. “You can’t forget. They’re going to be watching you and they don’t trust anyone. They’re obsessive and competitive, Peter used to…” Scott swallowed hard, hoping they could both ignore the way his voice fractured. “They give everything for this, it’s the whole reason they hunt us. You have to be one of them and we can’t break character.”

___

Stiles dragged his mate closer, moving to sit by him until they were pressed shoulder to shoulder and hip to hip. He snaked an arm around Scott’s waist, urging him to lean against his side. Any closer and he’d have dragged the wolf into his lap. This was a mistake. Stiles consistently and constantly threatened all the work his werewolf put into this assignment, but every time he did, he had the hardest time trying to give a damn.

"You’re worth so much more than this fucked up mess, Scott." The detective murmured, peppering feather-light kisses across the other man’s jaw, working his way to the wolf’s throat. It was an open challenge, but part of thrived on knowing that no matter how Scott tensed or how he growled, his mate would always yield - but just for Stiles. "You’re a hero, no matter how this turns out. You’re amazing."

They fit together like they were built for one another. It still caught Stiles by surprise sometimes, how easy it was to tuck his best friend under his arm. Even when Scott lost his soft edges, he still curved against Stiles’s side like he belonged there. 

"It’s not too late to get out of this, dude. Shack up on a beach somewhere." Stiles tried, even if it was. The feds would let them out of it. They couldn’t force them on a mission that required them to be their best, and Scott was technically a civilian. Except doing so would be career suicide, and there was a growing list of captive weres that they’d have to face down.

___

Taut muscles slowly unknotted and Scott’s head dropped back slightly, baring his throat just a little to give the detective better access. Even when he was wild and right from Peter’s kennel, Stiles always wielded too much power over him. “I’m not a hero.” He disagreed, resting his head on the other man’s shoulder. “This is your operation, I’m just here to make sure you come home in one piece.” Among other things. Home sounded good, he missed home.

“Maybe I should ask for a tropical vacation on the government’s dime when this is all over?” Scott tried to keep his tone light, pretending to be human in a way that he hadn’t in months. It had become almost second nature to think about their future and plan the little dreams they had together. Scott’s world was narrowing back down into blood and violence, and the need for praise, simple animal thoughts that always seemed so much safer than risking humanity. “Three weeks sounds good, don’t you think? Somewhere warm and sunny with a beach, maybe with those fruity drinks with the little umbrellas in them. We’ll drink until we’re sick and fuck until sand gets everywhere.”

He was playing right into his father’s hands, he was letting himself be used because they could. He  _owed_  them after all, he’d been saved and sent to rehabilitation because the government thought he was more use alive than dead. Scott would have liked to believe it was altruism, but the years had made him more cynical than that. Their motives didn’t matter; the only things that mattered were his own. There were people trapped in this world and they would never escape if someone didn’t try to help them. “If something happens, you’ll still stay, right? If I have to go back to Eichen House?”

___

"You’ll never get rid of me, Scott." The detective answered, tone far too serious when they were supposed to be discussing grass skirts and Mai Tais. He didn’t want to stop touching his mate, irrationally certain that he could hold back everything that was troubling his best friend. All Stiles wanted to do was help, but at this point, he couldn’t decide if that meant supporting or tearing down the training regimen the werewolf had started himself on. "No matter what."

Stiles knew one thing though. He would never stop kissing Scott.

He dragged his mate down to his level, sliding his hands underneath sweat-sticky clothes, fingers fanning out over velvet skin. The detective just wanted to touch. It grounded both of them so well.

"I’m gonna get sand up your butthole," he promised, tugging hard on Scott’s lower lip, until the wolf let out the sweetest little whine. "Fuck you in the water, kiss the sunburn on your shoulders… You never get sunburnt, dude, you’re the worst." Stiles huffed dramatically, working slow kisses up his partner’s chin.

"I’ll get you drunk on that wolfsbane stuff, and blow you in the backroom of the bar. We can get matching hula skirts, dude. It’ll be awesome."

Because Scott was his hero. Fuck it if Stiles wasn’t going to treat him like one.

___

The wolf grinned, pushing back to deepen the kiss. He had to be an animal again, but he wasn’t going to give up on the best parts of his humanity. When Stiles had saved him, he’d tried so hard to push his best friend away to ‘protect him.’ What he didn’t remember was how stubborn and how strong Stiles really was, the detective had fought back every time and refused to let go. Scott wasn’t going to make that mistake again, they were better together and he’d learned to rely on his. He could be the wolf and keep Stiles, they’d keep each other safe.

“If you take me to the beach, you’re going to be burned red on the very first day.” He laughed, slinging his legs over Stiles’s lap. “You’ll peel like a lizard, it’s going to be super gross. I’ll have to make you sleep in a different bed so you don’t shed yourself all over the sheets. But I’ll rub you down with lotion if you want me to, I can’t promise I won’t get handsy.”

They still had a future, no matter how far backwards he slipped, Scott couldn’t let him forget that. There was so much about the world he wanted now that he was allowed to want something for himself. “How’s the background work going? Your bragging about me catching some attention with the rich and famous? They can’t resist a good challenge.”

___

"Maybe I’ll boink you at night, and we can trip over sea shells or something. You can always get handsy. If you don’t, I’ll get seriously pissed," Stiles promised solemnly, inching just close enough that they could rub their noses together and be exceptionally gross. Stiles treasured moments like these, where they could just be each other, and work didn’t matter. This was a nice house, technically speaking. Maybe if circumstances had been different, they might have been able to actually enjoy it.

Stiles snorted. He’d made Scott watch Nolan’s Batman trilogy twice, and happily wiggled his mate into his lap properly. “Everyone wants to know how Private Anderson got these scars.”

He pressed his cheek into his mate’s shoulder, slowly nipping at any skin he could reach. Stiles told himself this was going to be worth it. They were going to find a way to come out of this, not just for each other but for all the people they could help. Then Stiles’s phone rang.

The detective scowled at it from across the room, but gave his best friend one last, long, searching kiss. If he smiled like a giddy loser afterwards that was all Scott’s fault. It wouldn’t last. His contact, Joseph Brakken’s voice was so crisp on the line.

"Rowland, looks like I can get you that slot you wanted for our next round sooner than I thought. You ready to talk business?"

___

Scott stifled a groan, flopping back on the bench as Stiles went for the phone. Even when they were home, that stupid phone intruded on his plans too often. He shouldn’t be so annoyed, Stiles was a cop and people depended on him. It wasn’t his fault when he was called in to work as much as Scott wished he could stay home and relax. He shared his human with the job and that was part of the deal. At least other people appreciated Stiles the way he did, there was always a warm sense of pride to know that the awkward angry boy from his childhood had grown up into someone so wonderful.

The wolf perked up, catching some of the words over the phone. Already? No, they were ready for this, he could do this again. Scott rubbed his sore, bruised knuckles, the skin split and raw from training. It would be healed within an hour like he’d never been hurt, ready for the next round. He slipped off the bench, grabbing a towel and slinging it around his neck. Enough sneaking a quiet moment, they had more important things to think about and until the case was over, he couldn’t afford even the smallest distraction. There would be time enough afterwards for sandy beaches and lingering kisses, all he had to do was fight his way through.

___

Stiles felt like the ground had shifted under him, but there was a smile in his voice, too sharp and too cutting, but unmistakable. “Tonight?  _Great_ , where’s the match up-“

"Slow your roll, Anderson," the mediator laughed. "We just wanna see if your pet can qualify for the big leagues. Don’t want you messing up that face of yours again for nothing, am I right? It’s a real friendly match."

"What can I say? I wanna show you what my boy can do." Stiles drawled, lazy on his a’s, like he didn’t have a care in the world, even if his lips had gone dry. "When are you coming by?"

Anderson made it sound like a couple of hours was too long a wait. Stiles wondered if he could get himself and his mate across the border in that time. He busied himself alerting the proper channels, playing the good cop, getting everyone’s green light. He picked out something Roland Anderson would wear, reminded himself what places Anderson would like to show off the most, and oh he liked to show off. That didn’t prepare Stiles for when Joseph Brakken strode into their ‘home,’ and cupped Scott’s cheek.

"So what does he do?"

___

The wolf cleaned himself up, slinking through the house to avoid Stiles before they had to be on display. As much as he wanted to wrap his arms around his human and beg to go home, he had to bury the weakness as deep as it would go. Stiles was a dream, a figment his mind held onto when things hurt too much to bear. He wasn’t real. Anderson was real and Scott’s life was in a cage. The last year had never happened, he couldn’t slip up or they’d both die.

When the human came, Scott was ready, wounds already healed and skin bared as much as propriety allowed. He jerked back from Brakken’s touch, eyes flaring red. He snapped his fangs at the human, almost catching his hand as Brakken flinched away. They wanted to own and control their pets, but they wanted that danger to it too. Scott knew how to play this game, these people liked to be reminded of how feral the wolves could be, it made them feel more powerful to know they kept a monster at the end of their leash.

“Careful, seems a little rabid.” Joseph said indignantly. “Good reflexes, but he’s a little small. You’re sure you want to risk him? He might be better as a lap dog.”

___

"Rabid when he senses weakness," Anderson countered easily, unapologetically smug. His fingers carded through the wolf’s hair, gently stroking until he grabbed, forcing his head back to bare his throat. "And worse when he senses a challenge."

Something in his stomach clenched. He watched Joseph’s stubby fingers yank up Scott’s jaw, examining his throat, brush down his arms and shoulders, move over his flank with the clinical interest judges used on show dogs. Bile crawled up his throat, and Stiles was so careful with what he let show on his face. No one should have been allowed to touch Scott. Anderson still laughed easily, shoving his pet down for inspection. “He’s fast and sharp. It’ll be a good show if you’re not afraid to break your boy a little.”

"You talk big for a first timer, Anderson." Joseph mentioned, not unkindly.

"I know how to put down a bitch. Now are we just going to talk, or do you need help finding the basement?"

___

Even if his skin crawled, Scott kept absolutely still and let the man inspect him with hands that lingered too long against his body. He growled low in his throat as his head was yanked back, but never said a word. They didn’t like it when wolves spoke, it reminded them that they were too close to being human. It was easier to treat them like animals when they were silent. Except when they wanted to hear begging.

Joseph was pushing because he could, showing he was dominant over the wolf and the young man refused to rise to the bait. Scott was obedient, a good pet, eyes always turned towards Anderson to make sure he never overstepped his bounds. He didn’t have to fake that utter devotion, it would play well with those they were trying to impress to gain access to the fights, but there was nothing insincere about the way he waited for orders. It was easier to focus on that than the hands that inspected him like he was a piece of meat. 

“Fine, let’s see what your scrawny little dog can do. If he breaks, it’s not my fault.”

___

Stiles’s fingers tightened in Scott’s hair, but only for a moment. He was quick to smooth over the spot, apologetically running his hands down his pet’s scalp, dragging his nails in the way that always made Scott lean into him. If he broke, the only way Joseph was leaving this house was in a body bag.

"Don’t underestimate him, Brakken. I want your pet to last as long as it can before losing." 

All Anderson had to do was snap his fingers, commanding Scott to follow. Whether or not the wolf did so on his knees, he didn’t want to see.

Stiles hadn’t been in the basement since they were first given the house. It was almost completely empty of furniture, and most space was occupied by a badly drawn ring, lined with mountain ash, a precaution that implied how new Anderson was to the sport. There was no sense in having wolves run away, but more seasoned trainers would happily put a bullet through a wolf’s eyes if it attempted to run. Not everyone could afford that.

He watched with bated breath as Joseph lead another wolf downstairs, his build solid and brawny and the electric collar around his throat far too telling. 

"Like I said, it’s not my fault if he breaks." 

Stiles wanted so badly to punch that smug grin off the asshole’s face.

___

Scott silently sized up his opponent, making a quick list of his strengths and weaknesses. The other wolf was bigger and heavily muscled, but he moved with a nervous hesitation. Even if he was aggressive, he didn’t have the years of experience in the ring. Being a veteran was an asset. The wolf moved obediently into the ring with his opponent as the mountain ash circle was complete, trapping them inside.

He wasn’t worried about the match, he could handle the larger wolf. The years of fighting had given him an edge, not arrogance. He trusted his abilities and he knew his limits, the only thing he worried about was Stiles watching him shed the last of his humanity. His best friend had caught glimpses of the monster inside of him even as Scott tried to bury it deep. People had gotten hurt, some had even died, but Stiles had never watched him fight like this…or the way he could enjoy it.

The wolf couldn’t let himself think about that. He fought to the death, it was the only way he knew how and any hesitation would be his own life. He only hoped that they would end the fight before the last blow was struck and that Stiles could still look at him the same way afterwards.

The shift came easily, blending human and animal into a new creature. The other wolf howled, eyes blazing gold but Scott didn’t move until his enemy struck out, dodging back faster than the other could keep up with. He toyed with Brakken’s wolf, letting the beast wear himself out in rage and aggression before striking fast. Scott dropped low, claws slicing through the exposed Achilles tendons in a spray of blood and finally howling back his challenge as the pain maddened the other wolf.  _Good. Come for me._

___

Anderson gave Joseph “the honors,” and when the other man signaled ‘go,’ Stiles forgot how to breathe. He watched, features carefully blank, his hands balled into fists as the  _monster_  charged at Scott. He licked his lips, wary of the heat that crept across his cheeks, gritting his jaw so hard it ached. Every time he thought the other man cast a glance in his direction, he forced out a hushed, “Come on,” cursing under his breath in a way that Stiles wasn’t good enough to fake properly.

Scott moved like a song, morbidly graceful and precise, and Stiles couldn’t recognize him. He couldn’t recognize his best friend, and for one terrifying second, he couldn’t breathe - then the wolf howled so loud, it echoed through the too small room. Scott’s opponent charged, eyes a maddeningly bright blue, claws outstretched only to be torn apart by a well placed counter. There was so much blood. So much - !

"Christ, stop. STOP!" Brakken bellowed, and a bolt of electricity surged straight down Scott’s back. Stiles was on him in a second, body-checking him into a wall and knocking the charged baton out of his hand.

"What the Hell are you doing, Brakken?!" He snarled, expression twisted with rage. This was a slip up. This was so bad.

Stiles was breathing through his mouth, panting for air, but when Anderson slid away, his grin was disgustingly arrogant. “You could damage my goods. My _winner_.”

Brakken was embarrassed on both fronts, his cheeks a ruddy red. “You didn’t call back your mutt, Anderson. What the Hell?”

"My pet isn’t the problem." Anderson snapped his fingers, pointing to the spot just inside the mountain ash barrier, at his heel. "You should be worried about your own." If his hand trembled, only Scott would know to look.

___

Scott screamed, body arching up to his toes as electricity surged through his nerves. His vision whited out, seizing as he hit the floor. He came to with the sound of Stiles’s voice snarling in his ears, words unintelligible. Something about ‘pet,’ he knew what that meant. The wolf dragged himself up, kneeling in a cooling pool of his opponent’s blood and ignoring the way the slick liquid dripped down the side of his face and across his chest. On the other side of the ring, the larger man moaned, hands clutched around the gaping gash in his abdomen. It wasn’t a mortal wound, though that hadn’t been by design. Scott would have killed the other wolf if he hadn’t been stopped, regret wasn’t an emotion he could afford in the ring.

The young man kept his head bowed, breathing hard as he waited to be addressed. Let the humans argue, Scott had a wary eye on his enemy. Wounded or no, he was still a threat and they were both trapped together in this ring until their masters released them. There was nowhere more dangerous than to be locked in a cage with a wounded animal.

“Alright.” Brakken conceded reluctantly. “I didn’t realize you kept your dog so vicious. I’ll admit, I wasn’t expecting him to be so brutal. He’d go over well in the big fights, but you know they won’t go so easy on your prized dog. They might mess up his pretty little face.” He’d lost fair and square, but that didn’t stop him from taking out his shame on his wolf. Brakken kicked the mountain ash barrier open and planted his heel on the injured pet’s neck. “If he dies, you’re paying for him.” He said with a sour frown. “On your feet, you’re embarrassing me.”

Scott finally looked up, face splattered with blood and nothing human in his eyes as he watched his master in expectant silence.

___

Stiles looked away, catching a glimpse of his best friend face. Flecks of crimson stood out against smooth caramel skin, and for a moment, everything on the detective’s face was too honest. His hand was heavy on Scott’s shoulder, like he wasn’t sure what to do with it.

Then Stiles forced himself to look away, licking his lips and blushing in unease, but whatever Joseph saw on his face made him snort. Anderson was so obviously new with his pets. He still hadn’t gotten over the novelty of having something so powerful on its knees - and there must have been a reason why he chose such a pretty one. Joseph didn’t care. Those trainers were a dime a dozen.

"Do you have another pet? We can go another round, if you have anything worth my time," Stiles said because Anderson would say it. And Joseph sneered. Definitely one of  _those_  trainers.

"Don’t push your luck. We’ll see how you do the next time around."

But he shook Anderson’s hand. The were hadn’t moved an inch since he was summoned to kneel. At least the army man knew how to keep his toys in line.

"Let me show you out." Anderson offered. He had a shark’s smile and didn’t seem to care who saw.

They left Scott in the dark, on his knees, like an afterthought. Joseph kicked his wolf every time it bled on the marble, and the beaten fighter crawled because he couldn’t walk. Stiles took his time showing them out, making small talk, dropping calculated hints about Anderson’s past. He might have been stalling, but Joseph wouldn’t care.

When the lights flickered back on, Stiles wasn’t sure what he would see. His voice wavered, pulse racing as he came down off an adrenaline high. He’d chosen to set a bath running, to grab water, to  _stare at the fucking wall_  before opening the door. Stiles was afraid his best friend would know.

"Scott?"

___

The wolf stayed on his knees in the bloody ring, listening as his master and the other man left with the wounded fighter. He hadn’t been given permission to move, if he slunk up the stairs without his master’s…without Stiles’s…Scott shook his head, confusing himself. Stiles wouldn’t let him stay down here in the darkness, reeking of another man’s blood, but it wasn’t Stiles. It couldn’t be Stiles, he had to think of his human as  _master_  or he wouldn’t be able to do this. If Brakken was still there and Scott so blatantly disobeyed, he could ruin everything.

His hands were growing tacky and Scott tried to keep his breathing steady as panic closed in around him. Windowless cells should be easy after so long, he didn’t know why his chest felt so tight or why it felt like the walls were crushing in on him.

It was too easy to kill, he attacked without thinking and in the moment, there was exhilaration in cutting down his enemies. It was a primal pleasure, a satisfaction in the violent nature of his wolf. Fighting was simple and clean, the rules were clear and the winner was the one left breathing. Few things in life made that much sense. Stiles should never have seen it. He’d come so far in reclaiming bits and pieces of his humanity, but no matter how many quiet nights or days at work, Scott wasn’t like the rest of them. He was an animal pretending to be tame and safe, it was only a matter of time before control slipped and everyone could see what was beneath the mask.

Scott flinched as the basement door opened, blinking up at his master…his Stiles? Which one? What was he supposed to do? “I-I’m sorry.”

___

"Hey - hey Scott." And Stiles was halfway down the stairs before the wolf could blink. His mind was spinning. The room stank of sharp copper and bitter sweat, but Stiles didn’t stop until he could pull his mate into his arms, cradling him close and nuzzling into the side of his neck. This was wrong. Scott was covered in blood. Scott had to be tazed before he stopped killing someone else. Scott was still the most amazing person he’d ever known, and Stiles hated hearing him apologize.

He brushing blood-stained cheeks, and dropped a careful, gentle kiss at the corner of his best friend’s mouth. “I got you, Scott. You did… You did so well. He’s gone. It’s over. Just you and me now, you with me, Scott?”

He rested his hand on his partner’s chest, over his frantic heart, and slowly, they walked out of the darkness together. Like they always would. Stiles would always come back for Scott. He didn’t know everything, he understood even less, but Stiles wouldn’t accept the way the wolf’s voice trembled when he spoke, not to  _Stiles_. 

Everything else could follow. 

**Author's Note:**

> This is an ongoing collaborative work/RP that has been fic-i-fied!
> 
> You can find Tmautog's awesome fics [here](http://nevertrustastilesthing.tumblr.com/)
> 
> You can read Rune's stuff [Here](http://fightingforthepack.tumblr.com/) and find her on tumblr at [ Runicscribbles](http://runicscribbles.tumblr.com)


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